His Arms Were Here
by Daelena
Summary: In the wake of Coulson defeating Garrett and them being saved from the sea by Fury, Simmons chooses to suppress everything she's feeling about what happened to Fitz. Trip knows she's lying to herself and he won't have any of it.


His Arms Were Here

_Disclaimer__: I don't own anything. I'm just playing in this sandbox for the time being._

_This is my first foray into the Agents of SHIELD adventures and I sincerely hope that you enjoy this story. I certainly had a good time writing it._

_Anyway, enjoy!_

"Jems?"

His voice was small, questioning, and yet still so secure, a true beacon of sanity amidst the sea of insanity that had defined their lives of late. Everything in her urged her to turn and face him, to face the warmth and support that he was offering with a word. It would be so easy to, so simple to turn to his arms and forget everything, if only for a little while.

And, in face of it, Jemma Simmons found that she could not, in spite of all of her instincts telling her otherwise. It would not be right.

"Yes?" she answered, in a strangled voice. It took everything she had to attempt to portray some form of confidence. "What do you want?"

His hand lightly touched her upper arm, a gentle question. She didn't turn away.

"You're not okay," he said, not a question this time.

She bit her lip, fighting back her tears. This was _not _the time for the waterworks. They had work to do and she needed something to keep her mind off of – well, she dared not think about him. The lab already was empty enough without _him_ there, dancing around her in perfect time, finishing her sentences, sharing her thoughts, and generally being the best of friends that she could have ever asked for.

"No, I'm fine," she said, adamantly denying what he was implying.

And a gasp left her as he pulled her away from her table and her work. His hands were strong and he held her with such intent that she actually didn't mind.

"Jems, you need to stop. You need to rest." A pause. "You need to process."

She couldn't stop.

She didn't want to.

But something inside of her broke and a sob caught in her throat. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

"I can work through this," she promised, knowing that she was fighting a losing battle with her emotions. "Please, just let me be."

"You can't function like this," he said, firm and unwavering. "They might think you're fine, but I know you're not." She didn't want to turn away, especially not now. He spoke the truth and, despite how much it hurt, she had to face it. "You don't have to tell me, but you can't keep it in."

He was right. She knew it.

And the dam broke.

The tears fell totally unbidden. No matter her best efforts, she cried and, once it started, there was no stopping them.

With the greatest of care, he turned her and wrapped his arms around her, letting her bury her face into his chest. She was grateful for his presence, so solid, so comfortable, and so reliable.

Strange, some voice told her, that in the face of the fall-out of everything that they faced, she turned to him, turned to the person who had sparked her interest, challenged her without really trying, and endeared himself her heart with gentle warmth and a sense of duty. Maybe it was always there and she hadn't realized it – or maybe she had wanted to deny it, in favor of something more comfortable that had come to a head while in a box and lost at sea.

His arms were around her, firm, tight, and strong. He wouldn't let her go and he wouldn't leave her. That soothed her.

She felt his lips on the side of her head, pressing a light kiss to her temple. She heard the words that he said, offering comfort and words of wisdom. He knew where she was, even if he didn't expressly say it. He had lived through what she was going through now and that was more comforting that she could have ever imagined.

And she let it out – all of it.

All her fears. All her insecurities. All of the pain that she had tried to keep inside, in the face of more pressing matters.

She didn't want her best friend – her brother, by choice, if not by blood – to die. In that last moment confessions from him, she had realized that he wanted something more, but she couldn't bear to think otherwise, because he was her other half and her best friend and, even if she wasn't in love with him, she still loved him. But, at the same time, she was afraid that he would be less that he was before. He would fine and alive and normal – but he wouldn't be the man he was before. His mind and all of the insane, yet brilliant ideas that he could have had would be lost.

That would be her doing, her fault.

The snap decision that she had made, whilst at sea, would affect the rest of his life. He would be different. He might be less. It would all be on her. In the end, it would be her responsibility.

"Jems," he whispered, "you did what you thought was right. You did what you had to do. Fitz is alive, because of you."

"It's not the same," she gasped out between sobs. "He was ready to die."

"He wanted to save you."

"I couldn't let him die." Anger flushed through her and said anger was only directed at herself. This was all her fault. "I'm too weak. He was willing to die so that I could live and I couldn't survive without him. I couldn't function without him here."

Her knees buckled and she couldn't stand.

Together, they sunk to the ground.

"You couldn't leave a man behind." His voice was firm and strong. Maybe, just maybe, she heard understanding there, in his voice. "You made sure he came home."

"He won't be the same."

There was another pause and he brushed a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. Briefly, she saw the smile that danced across his lips.

"No, but neither will you." She wanted to ask him a question, but he stayed that, when he continued, "None of us are, when we go through these kinds of things. I wasn't and you won't be." He titled her chin up so that their eyes met. "You saved a man's life and did so under extreme duress. Even if he's not the same person, the same mind, that we all knew before, he's _still could_ be that man and it's all because of you." His hand found her cheek. His thumb rubbed circles on her skin. "He gets the chance to live again – because of you, Jems."

His name – no, his nickname, the one that her team gave to him – rose to her lips, but she caught herself and remembered. She corrected herself.

"Antoine," Jemma Simmons whispered, "I'm scared."

"And that's okay," Antoine Triplett answered.

"I'm afraid he'll blame me for making him less than he was."

The arms around her tightened their hold on her just so. "If he knows you, he won't blame you for any of that."

She lifted her chin to meet his eyes. There was only friendship, support, and (dare she think it) love there.

"But he might."

"Jemma Simmons, you saved his life and he has a chance to regain who he was because of that. Never forget that."

And she wouldn't. In the face of everything that was to come, she wouldn't.

_That's it. Please review and let me know what you thought of this. If the Muse strikes again, I might come up with another idea for this pairing._


End file.
